


An Aftermath Incident

by Indigo55



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bromance, Fear, Gen, Pain, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:04:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo55/pseuds/Indigo55
Summary: For me, probably the most disturbing scene in FB I - for that matter, a very disturbing movie scene in general - is the one set in MACUSA's Execution Room.  Which is what I'm sure JKR meant it to be.I've seen some other takes on how such an experience could cause lasting trauma or PTSD, and this is my small attempt.





	An Aftermath Incident

The door was opened before him and he saw Graves directly in front of him, seated at a desk in a small, dimly-lit room. _Interrogation chamber. Of course._

_What have they done with the creatures?_ They had to have breached the case. Searched it. _If they've hurt anyone..._ he thought of The Niffler jumping on one of them to get to their cuff link, the Graphorns thundering up to have a closer look, Frank's reaction to someone who wasn't him and wasn't with him...and what some ignorant frightened fool might do… 

He felt ill. He fought it down. _Deal with what was at hand,_ he told himself resolutely; it was entirely possible these people would calm down once they were assured he and the creatures were harmless. _But was it likely?..._

As he sat in the chair indicated, he glanced over his shoulder at Tina standing behind him, looking wan and miserable. She was such a sad sight that he felt a pang of guilt; then caught himself. It was totally her fault they were in this mess. It was her desire to get her auror position back that motivated her to turn him in; he was just her means to that end. But she hadn't expected to get implicated too. 

_These Americans;_ they seemed on the verge of panic, the way they were behaving. Of course, what it appeared they were facing was rather daunting, so very daunting that they couldn't accept it... _an obscurus, it's got to be an obscurus;_ nothing else he knew killed as that Muggle had been killed. 

If they weren't so obsessed with the Secrecy Statute; so rigid about it, so afraid of the Muggles – the non-magical could be valuable allies in situations like this, but not in this society-on-lockdown.

He turned and faced MACUSA's Director of Magical Security - _It couldn't be, “Director of Magical Law Enforcement,” as it was in the Ministry; no, it had to be about Security, didn't it_. Percival Graves was giving him a penetrating look. He immediately dropped his gaze to the desktop. 

He had expected that they would have the information on him about Hogwarts, but he was taken aback at how Graves zeroed in on his relationship with Dumbledore. It was strange and unnerving; he sensed that the man's interest was far from benign, and it was very odd, he thought, that Graves would focus on it.

Then the other shoe dropped, and he had a much more serious problem with Graves than he'd ever anticipated. With Tina's hysterical sobs in his ears, they were marched off to a room the likes of which he never wanted to see. _The Americans believe in capital punishment, yes, but summary execution? He's getting rid of us. He tipped his hand, and now he's getting rid of us._ He was bewildered at a system that allowed such a thing to happen.

As he walked he soon felt the lightest of touches on his hands, his wrists. _Pickett, my friend,_ he exulted to himself, careful to show no outward sign. _I can always count on you!_

There was a shout from behind them. He heard Graves's bark: "Look! There's something on his hands!"

_Damn!_

Then his hands were free, and he began to use them. He spun on the guard closest to him and decked him before the man even knew what was happening. He snatched up the man's wand and looked up to see the female attendant being terrorized by something small, fast, and green; Pick was scuttling up her wand arm as she shrieked. Tina stood to one side, staring in amazement. 

He took swift aim and stunned the woman guard. It wasn't his wand, of course, but it got the job done. Then he turned to face Graves...who had closed the distance between them and was only about 20 feet away. His handsome face was twisted into a visage of enraged loathing, it seemed a bizarre overreaction. Something clicked for him; _fanatic,_ he thought...Graves was raising his wand...

Next instant, into his field of vision shot a green blur, arrowing in a flat arc, straight at Graves. He could make out the chittering scream, **"Leave my tree alone, you bastard!!!"**

**"Pickett!!! NO!! Stupefy!!"** he screamed himself, the red ray of the spell hitting Graves in the chest; but not before baleful green light had lanced out from the American’s wand. The aim was a little off, but not much, and he’d had to drop to the floor to avoid being hit, tackling Tina at the same time to insure her safety. 

Getting to his hands and knees with a wide-eyed Tina beneath him, he saw Graves sprawled unconscious, no other wizards…and Pickett, his friend, companion, resident, and oftentimes partner in crime, now on the floor. Barely moving and keening as only a bowtruckle in deepest agony could, a sound that made every nerve ending he possessed explode...

Pick had only been singed by the powerful killing curse, not directly hit, but it was enough. The air reeked with the stench of his burns. He had been reduced to a small black piece of char that was horribly still living, suffering. 

He leapt to his feet and rushed to him. As gently as he could, he gathered up what was left of his dear friend ( _“Newt! Newt, are you okay?”_ ) and of course all Pick could do was screech and cry at every touch ( _“What is it? Wake up! Wake up!!”_ ) and his heart both froze in his chest and split in a thousand pieces ( _ **“NEWT, WAKE UP, YOU’RE HAVING A BAD –“**_ )…

**“-DREAM!!”**

He jerked awake. Pickett was standing on his chest and chittering furiously into his face. It was so dark he couldn't see him, only hear him.

“Wha-?” he said cleverly.

“You've been moaning and yelling and thrashing about, that’s what,” Pick told him, relieved. 

Surrounded by night, Newt recognized the sounds of the ship around them; the engine toiling away, the soft swish of the waves as they were parted. Out the tiny porthole he could see a half-moon, its’ cool glow reflected on the ocean.

“Oh. OH.” He fetched a huge shuddering sigh. “A dream. A nightmare. Bugger, a bloody _monstrosity_ of a nightmare…”

“It sounded like it. I don’t think I've ever seen you like that before. It was scary.”

“It was. Believe me.” He looked in the direction of Pickett’s voice, and in the gloom could just make out his silhouette, the moonlight’s reflection on his smooth and intact skin, and in his bright eyes. He was still on Newt’s chest. 

“Oh, Pick, we were lucky, you know,” he whispered. “So very lucky.”

In the darkness Newt couldn't see Pickett’s doubtful expression. _“We?_ When? I've told you, _you_ were lucky fooling around with that obscurus-thing and that Awful Bad Wizard _without me_ to help you. But **we,** as a _team,_ _ **we**_ can’t be beat. Never have been and never will.” His sharp bowtruckle eyes had adjusted so that he could make out his tree’s face well enough to see the fear in his eyes. His Newt-tree, afraid? Of what? He was hardly ever afraid. Pick saw to that. 

“Hey, Newt,” he chirped quietly, “It was just a stupid dream. Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

The wizard was so touched by this statement, he almost shed tears. He mastered himself so as not to cause Pickett even more concern. He nodded, and in the faint light the bowtruckle saw it.

“Are you going to be okay now?” he asked.

“Ah – I tell you what. Let’s do the pillow maneuver for the rest of the night.”

“The pillow-? I thought that was for when there’s danger. You’re always afraid you’re going to crush me when we do that.”

“Here,” Newt said, taking the pillow and mashing it to one side, against the bulkhead the bed was beside. “I won’t even use it, it’s for you. You sleep on it.”

“Nah, you can still roll over on me,” Pick protested. “And you’re the one who loves pillow-things, not me.”

“Wait, I just thought of something.” He reached for his wand on the nightstand, next to Pick’s tree. _“Protego totalum,”_ he said, pointing at Pickett.

“That felt kinda good. What was it?”

“Shield charm. Now I can’t hurt you, you’re shielded. If I roll over on you it’ll wake me up.”

“Okay, great. So?”

“So…sleep on my chest, Pickett. Just humor me.”

He could just make out how the bowtruckle cocked his head to one side. “A nice heated bed for a night? Why not?” He curled up right where he was. “Hey, I can hear – I can _feel_ your heartbeat.” He bowtruckle-yawned. “G’night, Newt.”

“Thank you, Pick,” said Newt drowsily, dropping back off to sleep as he felt comforted by a spot of extra weight and warmth right over his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is really appreciated.


End file.
